


You’re Holy to Me

by cherrywinecrowley



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley impersonates a priest, Crowley’s too hot for his own good, Dirty Talk, Fooling around in a church, Light Smut, Takes place before the almost apocalypse, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-28 08:59:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19809016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherrywinecrowley/pseuds/cherrywinecrowley
Summary: Crowley hates his job. But everyone downstairs loves him. And unlike other demons, he’s got a wicked imagination.What harm could impersonating a priest do?





	You’re Holy to Me

After many, many years, Crowley came to the conclusion that he hated his job. But this epiphany did him little good, because he didn’t have the option of quitting and sending out a nice little resume to potential employers. He was a fallen angel, damned for all eternity. There’s only one line of work for beings like him, and so he was a demon. 

And demons didn’t get holiday pay. They didn’t get to call in sick, or go on company retreats. They worked all the time, 24/7, wreaking havoc all over the world. And Crowley didn’t like that. It didn’t leave time in his schedule for much else. 

It’s just that Crowley didn’t like wreaking havoc enough to want to do it all the time.  
The only thing he truly liked about his job was the opportunity to rile people up. That’s something that separated him from other demons. The others lived to serve the lords of hell, they loved everything that could be classified as evil. Genuine destruction and misery. Claiming souls for their masters. And that just wasn’t Crowley’s scene. Seeing people mildly pissed off, now that was something else entirely. Cutting off someone when barreling down the highway at 90mph, or bringing down WiFi signals all through London and hearing thousands upon thousands of people groan in unison, that was all very enjoyable to him. But murder? Corruption? He could care less.

Crowley also realized that he just wasn’t a very dedicated worker. He liked to nap, for one thing. Demons weren’t known for napping, and Crowley took awfully long ones. There’s not much you can do in the name of Satan when you’re snoozing for an entire century. He was sure he’d get reprimanded for that someday if anyone ever caught on. And then there was his job expectations. Tempting humans was one thing, but the quotas! Crowley found it highly unlikely that demons like Hastur ever got “exceeds expectations” on their performance reviews. So many of his colleagues were stuck in simpler times and went about their work very methodically. There was no way they were meeting those goals. And lastly, the paperwork. Every temptation required a thorough report. Names, dates, headers, detailed writings of what occurred. It was Crowley’s absolute, least favorite part of the job. 

Despite all of this, the Dark Council was always very pleased with him. He was fairly certain it was because he knew how to bullshit his way around memos. Exaggerating a bit, changing a detail here or there to make it seem more appealing to his superiors. The thing was, they ate everything up. They never fact checked anything. Sometimes Crowley wished he hadn’t started the habit of dramatizing his work because now they expected more from him. They gave him more responsibilities. He was their golden boy. 

He hated it.

But today, Crowley was trying something new. He was sure this new trick would be a big hit with everyone downstairs, and no other demon would be brave enough to do it, let alone have the creativity to dream it up in the first place. He looked himself over at the mirror and snorted. He looked like an absolute fool in his long, sweeping black robes and clerical collar. But he had to look the part. He tucked back his long tufts of orange hair and made his way down the stairs from his flat to the sidewalks of London the minute the sun dipped down from the sky.

Crowley stalked over to the local church. This was probably the most idiotic thing he was ever going to do. It was for sure the most idiotic thing he had done to date. But what other demon would have the gall to impersonate a priest, sneak into a house of worship, and tempt lost souls through the confessional?

Crowley opened the door and winced at the burning sensation that shot through his hand. After a painful, awkward hop to the confessional stall, Crowley pulled up his feet and sat down on the wooden bench. The room felt entirely too hot. He was sweltering in his skin. Everything felt like it was burning and itching at the same time. But he had gone to all this trouble. And he was pretty sure he had lost the receipt to his costume. 

Soon enough, people started filtering through the creaky wooden doors. They knelt and they prayed, they lit candles at the altar. And then some of them would find their way to the confessional, sitting opposite to Crowley. He heard some interesting stories from a woman debating on whether or not to continue an affair, a businessman deciding on whether or not to sell without consulting his partner, and a young man who was very desperate for money. They all came to the box, asking for help, and Crowley listened to them all before giving them his advice. Each one of them left feeling more uncertain than when they had entered the church and leaning towards making the wrong decision.

Crowley was ecstatic. He could go back to his flat, crank out this report in an hour or two, and then spend the next few days recuperating at home. No one would have to know that he wasn’t out lurking and hunting for souls. They’d probably send him another accolade of some sort. If Crowley actually took pride in his work he might’ve framed some of them by now.

Except that when he rose to his feet, he heard the sound of the confessional box’s door swinging open and closed. Followed by a nervous sounding clearing of the throat, and the unmistakable voice of an angel.

“Ah, hello Father,” Aziraphale said politely, “I’d like to speak with you.”

Crowley knew that Aziraphale would recognize his voice. Fuck. Beads of sweat dripped from his forehead. Fuck! Crowley coughed a few times and then spoke very, very deeply. “Have you sinned my child?” Crowley said gruffly. 

“If this wasn’t such a stressful situation, it’d be downright comical.” he thought to himself. 

“Heavens no! I mean, n-no. I’m just feeling lost and could use some guidance.” Aziraphale said quickly. He fiddled with his bow tie and stared down at his feet.

“I am listening.” Crowley continued to fret over his voice and made conscious efforts to make it sound several octaves lower than usual. Aziraphale hadn’t noticed anything yet. “Speak, my child.”

“I just, well, oh dear,” Aziraphale laughed nervously. “I’m not quite sure how to begin. I’ve just felt a little lost lately and just needed someone to talk to.”

“Haven’t got any friends to sort this out with?” Crowley was starting to feel a little irritated. What was so nerve-wracking that Aziraphale had opted to go seek comfort in a wooden box with a stranger, rather than the person he had trusted for thousands of years? 

“Oh well I, I don’t have many friends. I have one friend, a best friend, but I couldn’t tell him this.” Aziraphale admitted.

“What is it?” Crowley asked. His heart skipped a few beats when Aziraphale referred to him as his “best friend”. Sure, he couldn’t tell him that to his face but he could say it to a bloody priest. 

“I’ve been, I’ve been rather curious about...something. Lately. But it’s always come across as, well, sinful, and I could never do something that’s considered a sin.” Aziraphale began drumming his fingers nervously on his knees. The room was a bit warm. Were churches always this warm?

“Your faith is strong.” Crowley mused.

“Thank you Father.” Aziraphale brightened at the compliment. “But I don’t know what to. These thoughts are becoming more and more frequent and I can’t get a handle on myself lately.”

“Tell me.” Crowley began to lose his grip, his composure. He cleared his throat again and gripped the wooden seat tightly in his hands. Aziraphale was killing him. What the hell was bothering him so much?

“I want...I want to touch. Myself. Or be touched. And the feelings come on so strong and so suddenly, it’s like an urge. I don’t know what to do. Help me.” Aziraphale begged. 

Crowley’s mouth had gone dry. 

“And...and why you felt you could not talk to this friend of yours?” Crowley couldn’t help it, he had to know. Did Aziraphale think he’d make fun of him? Did he think he wouldn’t understand? 

If only the angel knew all the things Crowley had dreamt about. All the fantasies, all of the things he imagined whenever his time with Aziraphale ran short. Grabbing him by the coat and kissing him in the Bentley, pressing him up against one of the bookshelves in his shop, having him cuffed in the Bastille...

“That’s the other thing,” Aziraphale said quietly, breaking his concentration. “When I have these thoughts, I always think of him too.”

Fuck. 

“Angel!” Crowley cried out. He couldn’t take it anymore, he was going to burst. Fuck if his cover was blown. 

“Crowley? What-what on God’s green earth, what the HELL are you doing in a confessional? In a church?” Aziraphale whispered harshly. He peered into the small black screen and glared at Crowley, who was sprawled out and looked like a sweaty, breathy mess. 

“Angel, fuck, angel-“ Crowley moaned, his knuckles turning white. “God, knowing you want this, that you want this as much as I do, is the hottest fucking thing in the world.”

“I can’t believe this, I-I’m utterly humiliated, Crowley!” Aziraphale spat out. He was mortified. He never thought he’d run into Crowley someplace like this. 

“No time for that,” Crowley choked out, “you can chew me out later. Please, please just come over here.” 

Crowley thought for a moment that when Aziraphale stepped out from the box that he had left. It wasn’t until the door swung open and a very red faced angel appeared in the stall with him that it had really sunk in that Aziraphale was there. 

Crowley wasted no time. He grabbed Aziraphale’s hand and pulled him over to the bench. Before the angel could protest, Crowley had spun him around so his back was to his chest. Aziraphale felt a sudden tug downwards and seconds later he was spread out on Crowley’s lap. 

“Crowley, we can’t,” Aziraphale whined softly as the demon began kissing and biting his neck. “O-oh! Crowley please, we’re in a church, what if someone sees, what if someone’s watching?”

“You think anyone’s keeping track of us in this dingy little place?” Crowley muttered. “Everyone’s left, it’s just us. Fucking finally, it’s just us.”

“Still!” Aziraphale let out a sharp cry when Crowley bit down on his ear. “W-we can’t, it’s indecent. It’s not right. It’s a sin!”

“I’m not gonna tell anyone,” Crowley breathed. His hands were working on undoing the buttons on Aziraphale’s pants and shoving them down past his knees. “Just let me help you. You came here for help. Let me do this for you.”

Aziraphale shuddered when he felt Crowley trace the outline of his cock through his underwear as he kissed and licked his neck. It wasn’t long before he felt the demon’s hand snake it’s way underneath, lightly skimming over his cock. For a few moments that’s all he did, leaving bite marks and bruises all over the other’s skin as he teased the the length of his cock. 

“Oh!” Aziraphale couldn’t help it, he started begging over and over. “Oh please, please Crowley, I can’t take it anymore! Please Crowley!”

“Please what? You’ve got to tell me, angel. Otherwise I’m not going farther than this.” Crowley hissed into his ear. “Tell me to keep going. Tell me you want this.” 

“C-Crowley,” Aziraphale stuttered, “Would you, would you get on with it already?”

Crowley gave his cock a light squeeze, smirking at the sharp gasp Aziraphale let out. “That’s not what I asked for.”

Aziraphale turned to look at Crowley. It was enough to make him come undone ten times over. The angel was in ruins. He had bright pink cheeks, shiny red lips and an undone shirt with buttons missing, his cock was hard and leaking and his pants were shoved down to his ankles. “I want it.”

Crowley wrapped his hand around Aziraphale’s cock and started stroking it slowly, flicking his wrist each time he reached the tip. Every now and then he’d thrust his hips up which would cause Aziraphale to gasp and squirm in his grip. One hand firmly held onto the angel’s hip while the other worked his cock. He kept a steady pace, only stopping once to spit on his hand to make things more slick. 

“Crowley, oh! Please, please don’t stop!” Aziraphale cried out. His legs dangled over the edge of the bench as Crowley held him down on his lap. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it angel,” Crowley groaned. “So pretty spread out for me like this. What else do you want hm?”

“More...more things like this.” Aziraphale answered breathily. 

“More? Greedy little thing. Bet you want more than my hands. You want my mouth around your cock angel? You want to stretch my mouth open with this thick cock of yours?” Crowley asked, his pace growing quicker as Aziraphale trembled in his grip. 

“Fuck,” Aziraphale gasped. “Yes!” 

“I know I want to feel yours too, want you bent over my lap so I can fuck your mouth in the Bentley. Want you to look up at me with a cock in your mouth and your eyes watering. Want you spread out for me on your desk, in my bed, on a bench in the park. Wanna take you to a movie and have you ride my cock.” Crowley grunted, stroking his throbbing cock over and over again. 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale shouted as he lurched forward. “I-I’m, I’m so close!”

“Come on angel,” Crowley moaned in his ear, “Just like that, so good for me. Wanna see you let go.” 

Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered closed and with a few snaps of his hips, he was cumming all over Crowley’s hand. He threw his head back as he finished, the last ropes of cum dripping onto his pants. For a few seconds the two of them stayed just like that, panting and leaning into each other, eyes closed, their skin heated and sticky with sweat. 

Aziraphale moved first. He stood up, albeit a little shakily, and began to dress himself again. He tried to ignore the sight of Crowley licking up every drop of cum from his fingers, but he couldn’t. And he committed it to memory. Crowley sucked on his fingers and let each of them go with an obscene “pop”. And then he grinned, moving to rub his hands up and down the angel’s waist. “Well, what now?”

Aziraphale could’ve done anything at that point. He could’ve miracled himself far away from the blasted church. He could’ve told Crowley to never speak to him again. He could’ve dropped to his knees and repented, he could’ve begged for forgiveness. 

Instead he leaned over and pressed his lips firmly to Crowley’s, slipping his tongue into his mouth. He let himself fall back into Crowley’s lap and his hands reached up to cup his cheeks as they kissed. He let himself be pressed against the wooden wall of the confessional. He let Crowley spread his legs and step between them. 

Afterwards, when Crowley offered him a lift, he took it. And when they ended up at Crowley’s flat, he didn’t object.

**Author's Note:**

> Publishing my second fic. First attempt at smut. God I love these two.


End file.
